3. A double macchiato, a glass of hot water and honey on the side, please.

It is amazing how people pull themselves out of it. Some through time, some using substance, and some who endure it all within. Regardless of what the pain may be, we human beings usually always push ourselves through and having said that,  my deepest condolences to the souls that were not able to.

Have you ever found that sweet pleasure in soaking in your sorrow? The feeling of utter incompleteness, helplessness and the haunting emptiness, a peculiarity which turns honey bitter and coffee sweet.  It is in these circumstances that a person can find that lone berry, a wild red cherry, poisonous, and yet the sweetest, that you simply cannot pass the opportunity to feel your lowest, the heaviest in spite the great concave hollow. To  feel the daily breeze like a hurricane on your skin, to perhaps realize the volume of endurance.

There comes a point in every event of the like, that we find ourselves lost, withered and hopefully hopeless. This suspension in the vacuum and in the endless tick of time, we crave for the impossible, a godly intervention, and even act against our integrity and principles. We break our vow, speak out those things we repeatedly reminded ourselves never to speak of again. Weak is the will of the lovelorn heart, a crippled soul, otherwise an almost defeated man. Yet, somehow despite walking through hell’s hot distance, we find that we may be defeated but never destroyed.

And so, tasting the sweet touch of grief sublime, we must endure. We cannot give in, we mustn’t. For when the new day dawns and the sunlight feels warm, we can remember the horror that has passed. Not explicitly, but a rainbow remains forever. Water tastes a lot sweeter and the grass feels much softer, and every breath reminds you why you are still alive.

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